The Importance of Believing
by you-idjits
Summary: "There's something in this man's eyes, something desperate and lonely and Father George has never been one to close the doors on the needy." Dean visits a church to seek counsel. The Apocalypse is on his shoulders and he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to believe. Tag to 5x21 Two Minutes to Midnight, Outsider POV.


**A/N: What do you know? More Dean angst from an outsider POV! Apparently this is all I can write. I'm also running out of photos of Dean crying to use as covers. This is really getting pathetic.**

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Father George is just closing the doors when he arrives.

The man jogs up the steps to the church, calling, "Wait!"

Father George hesitates. "I'm sorry, I was about to go home for the night. We have Mass tomorrow at 9:00 am, can you come back then?"

The man bends over and catches his breath. "I need your help."

They make eye contact, and Father George takes the opportunity to observe the latecomer. He's tall, with cropped short hair and a set to his jaw that screams _military_. "Can it wait until morning?"

The man curses and starts to turn. "No, tonight's the last chance. That's okay, I can… find another church." He lifts his eyes to the sky and mutters something under his breath.

There's something in this man's eyes, something desperate and lonely and Father George has never been one to close the doors on the needy.

The man sits on the edge of a church pew, and Father George sits across from him. The empty space between them seems miles wide.

He looks uncomfortable in the church, glancing around at the religious icons. "I don't belong here."

"Nonsense. Everyone is welcome in the eyes of God."

"That's, uh, why I'm here, actually. It's about God."

Father George smiles. "I am here to listen. My name is Father George."

"Dean," he says. He rubs sweaty hands on the knees of his jeans.

"How can I help you, Dean?"

"What… what would you say if I told you it was all real? Heaven, Hell, angels, demons."

"I would agree with you, Dean. You seem to be forgetting that I am a clergyman. It is my job, and my faith, to believe in such things."

"But I mean-" He curses, and Father George flinches at the use of such language in a church. "It's all _real_. Not like it is in the Bible, with halos and pearly gates and all. Angels wear trench coats and most of them are dicks and Death likes _deep-dish pizza_. And I'm stuck in the middle of this Apocalypse crap and I just don't fucking know what to believe anymore."

Father George sighs and crosses his legs. He's dealt with the crazy ones before, the ones who ramble late into the night and go out just as sick as they came in.

"The Bible isn't always meant to be taken literally, Dean. But I'm not sure I can take angels in trench coats seriously either."

Dean laughs bitterly. "Well, you'd better, or Castiel will prove you wrong." After a moment,  
"Look, I know you think I'm crazy. I'd think the same thing." He shakes his head.

"I am here to listen and advise. My opinion on your mental health is irrelevant." He smiles gently.

Dean glances up, unsure of himself, eyebrows knitted. "Thanks."

"You said you don't know what to believe? Explain."

He sighs, puts his head in his hands. "I guess that's why I'm here. To find my faith again? I don't know, man. I- I was always kind of an atheist, growing up. I mean, you see the kind of shit I saw, it's hard to believe in God. But then this _angel_ comes along and tells me he raised me from perdition, and- I don't know, man."

"You're confused. It's understandable. A lot of men in your situation, at your age, go through the same questions."

Dean laughs then, really laughs. "Nobody's in my situation. You don't understand."

"Then help me to, Dean. If you want my help, you have to slow down and explain. You used to be an atheist. But now you believe in God?"

"It's hard not to, when you see the evidence before your eyes. I _know_ God exists, but not- not the way you do. You have faith, this trust that he exists. I don't have that."

"So why do you believe?"

"You're going to think I'm crazy."

_I already do_, Father George thinks. But he says, "Explain."

"Because Castiel told me. He's an angel."

Father George takes a deep breath. This is six kinds of crazy. "For the moment, let's say I believe you. Why is there a problem, then? You say you know God exists."

"Yeah, but he's not _doing anything_. He's AWOL. Joshua, this other angel, he said God is here on Earth, minding his own business, letting things play themselves out."

"I've heard that theory before, though never from such a… primary source." Father George smiles at the absurdity of this situation.

"It's just… It's not how I imagine God. He's supposed to be a _father_. Fathers watch their children, take care of them, make sure they're safe."

"Did _your_ father?" It's an innocent enough question, a gently sarcastic comment, but Dean stiffens. "Fathers teach lessons to their children, Dean. Sometimes, they have to stay out of the worse fights."

"But doesn't he _care_?"

Now Father George understands the problem. "You're not questioning your faith, you're questioning _God_."

"I don't know." Dean throws up his hands. "But the world's about to end, and God's not doing anything about it."

"He caused the end of the world once, you may remember. Noah's ark?" Father George points out. "Listen, each man can have his own opinion. But mine? I believe God is still present. He watches over us, takes care of us, administrates the fights. If he wants the world to end, so be it."

"You're _wrong_." Dean says.

Father George straightens. "Excuse me. We each have our faiths. Please do not insult mine."

"No, but you're _wrong_. He doesn't want the world to end! He saved me and Sam, brought Castiel back from the dead, all to stop the Apocalypse. He's clearly against it. I just don't see why he's done interfering. He could stop it, end it right now. One word from him and Michael would finally shut up."

"It's not his job, Dean. It is man's responsibility to clean up the messes he makes." The words hang in the air.

Dean ducks his head and begins to cry silently.

"Why me? Why does it always have to be _my job_ to save the world?"

Father George isn't sure Dean speaks to him.

"I'm sick of this," he mutters. He wipes a hand down his face and inhales deeply.

"Come again?"

"I'm sick of this weight on my shoulders. I can't do it anymore. I can't do God's job for him."

"I don't understand."

He shakes his head. "Nobody does. I thought maybe coming here, talking to someone, it would help. But you're just as ignorant as the rest of them."

Insanity is never so raw, not in Father George's experience. This stranger is genuinely distraught. And for a moment, Father George loses his footing. Dean is telling the truth. Whatever Father George dismissed as nonsense, it's real. This man has an unfathomable weight on his shoulders. He was chosen by God. Father George has to take him seriously.

"You're supposed to… stop the Apocalypse?"

Dean nods, still staring down at his feet. "Yeah, me and my brother and Castiel."

Father George is finally beginning to catch on, to parse some of Dean's earlier words. "Castiel is the angel in a trench coat?"

Dean looks up then, hope gleaming in his eyes. "You believe me."

"It is my job to believe."

"I-" He chokes up again. "What do I do, Father?"

"You have been chosen for something great, Dean. I don't understand half of what you've told me, but I understand that much. No man should have to carry such a weight. It's understandable that you question God, under such circumstances. You feel wronged."

"Damn straight," Dean says.

"But remember, Dean. God would only have chosen you to bear the responsibility if he knew you could do it."

Another pause, as Dean measures the weight of those words.

"I don't know if I can."

"God has faith in you, Dean. As do I."

For a moment, they sit in silence. Father George goes over the last moments, trying to piece together Dean's words. Something big is going on, something bigger than he's ever imagined. The world is a much more dangerous place than he thought it to be. And this man, this anonymous prophet, is at the center of it all. He talks like he's met angels and demons and Death. He talks like he's been to Hell and back again.

Dean rises. "I should get back to Sammy, he's probably worried sick." He smiles, but the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. Going through the motions without feeling any of it. "And I've, you know, got an Apocalypse to stop."

Before he reaches the door, he turns and says, "Thank you, Father."

"I think I'm the one who should be thanking you. You carry our lives on your shoulders." The gravity of this statement finally sinks in. This man is a hero, a martyr, a soldier. He is the most important man Father George will ever meet.

"Listen, there's, uh… There's going to be some pretty bad crap coming these next few days. Just… get your family to somewhere safe, please."

"I'll be praying for you," Father George says.

Dean chuckles. "We went over this already. God's gone, Father. Prayers are empty words."

"God is never gone. Only dormant. Our fathers never really stop watching over us. Be safe, Dean."

"You too."

And then Dean's out the door, down the steps, and out of sight.

But not out of mind. No, Father George never forgets Dean. Five days later, when the storms and fires settle down and the world seems peaceful again, Father George knows. He doesn't understand everything, and he doesn't ever expect to, but he knows one thing. Dean succeeded. He saved the world.

If anything, it reinforces Father George's faith. Not in God, but in the goodness of humanity, in the strength of a hero, and in the importance of believing.


End file.
